


Heart of a Witcher

by j_gabrielle



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Established Relationship, M/M, Making Up, Mpreg, Mpreg Jaskier, Non Graphic Birth, Non-Linear Narrative, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Protective Witchers, This was supposed to be short and now it isn't, sigh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: It occurs to Jaskier, rather belatedly, that being nauseated at the smell of grass is highly unnatural. The enlightenment has had barely a moment to ferment in his mind before he tilts his head down and begins to push out the half-digested remnants of his last meal.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 576





	Heart of a Witcher

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the folks on the Pregnant Jaskier chat on Tumblr. Y'all are pretty awesome. Thanks for letting me play in this sandbox x

It occurs to Jaskier, rather belatedly, that being nauseated at the smell of grass is highly unnatural. The enlightenment has had barely a moment to ferment in his mind before he tilts his head down and begins to push out the half-digested remnants of his last meal. 

A further thought happens when his consciousness stream towards the line of, 'This has been happening a lot lately', and then 'When was the last time I had a decent meal?' before coming to the hysterical conclusion of 'It's almost as if I am pregnant'.

The realisation is a bolt of awareness that has him forcing out the last spit of bile, rubbing the sleeve of his jacket over his mouth. There was only one way to find out. Scrambling to his pack, he digs until his fingers brush up against a soft fabric tucked away in the darkest corners of his bag. 

Geralt's scent on that stolen shirt was faint and Jaskier had to bury his nose, breathing in deep and holding that breath in his lungs until it grew too heavy for his chest to bear. He exhales in a shaky rush, but the truth of the matter is showing itself in the way nausea fades to a low hum in the back of his head, and for the first moment since he left that godforsaken mountain, he allows himself a second of despair to claw up his throat.

He is pregnant with Geralt's child.

A phenomenon that neither one of them had entertained as a remote possibility, what with Geralt allegedly being made sterile by his Witcher trials and Jaskier having been convinced his body was way too fucked up from all the drinking and scrapes he had gotten into to ever sustain a successful pregnancy. There had been moments that he had thought a family would have been nice, but those inklings were always smothered away before they could take root, and he had learnt to smile and be thankful that he was allowed his place at Geralt's side and in Geralt's bed.

Hot tears stung at his eyes, dripping down his cheeks and before long, Jaskier chokes back a sob.

"Fuck!"

* * *

_"Fuck!"_

_Jaskier jolts from where he had been dozing on their bed. "What?" He asks, pushing himself on his elbows. _

_Geralt ignores him in favour of pulling out the contents of his pack. _

_"What's wrong?" Jaskier tries again. Sitting up, he reaches out to drag the blanket around him like a cloak. The fire in the hearth was lit, but the late summer nights had already born the chill in them and Jaskier had never warmed up to the cold. _

_Empty potion bottles clatter and clink as they fan out on the floor. Geralt gives his search another good minute before grunting in defeat, falling back on his haunches just as Jaskier folds himself on the creaking boards next to him. _

_"I ran out of the after morning after ones," Geralt says. "The ones you need."_

_Jaskier huffs a laugh, hiding it in the way he tucks his lips to the meat of Geralt's shoulder. "I don't _need_ it. If I _needed_ it, I'd have been pregnant ten times over by now."_

_"Can't imagine it."_

_"Imagine what?"_

_"You pregnant." Amber eyes turn to him and then away. "Ten kids running around in this world because of us."_

_Geralt visibly shudders at the thought and Jaskier has to bite back the twinge of unexpected disappointment. He pulls away to hide the way his hands shake a little. Geralt seems to have missed the message because he crowds his body back against Jaskier's. He tilts his head, blue and amber holding court in the space between their chests, lips and eyes. And then there was nothing else to say._

* * *

Jaskier could smell Eskel coming from a mile away.

The smoke and sweat that hung to the Witcher like a second skin turned his stomach uncomfortably. He leaned against the bark of a tree, breathing shallow. "Hello, Eskel. Would you mind staying there for a minute? Thank you." He manages when he hears the telltale crunch of hooves and boots on leaves. 

"You smell different."

Jaskier laughs, the sound high and hysterical in the quiet of the forest. "And you smell the same, dear friend." Turning around to face him, he steels himself for the rejection that would surely follow.

Brown eyes flicker to the small swell of his midsection before jerking back to his face. He sees Eskel's nostrils flare, chest rising in intake of the air around them. The Witcher steps forward, careful and measured.

"Is it...?"

"Yes," Jaskier replies without hesitation. Licking his lips, he shakes his head miserably. "He doesn't know."

Eskel comes close enough to reach out his hands, halting midway. Jaskier tugs them the rest of the way to cup the swell. He stands still, allowing the closest thing his child will have to an uncle to marvel at the impossibility of their being.

"Where is he?" Eskel asks.

Jaskier swallows down the bitterness that sits high in his throat. "I don't know. I haven't seen him in months and I have avoided any towns that I think would have contracts he would take. He told me that if life could give him one blessing, it was to take me off his hands."

"He can't mean that," Eskel says, disbelief clear in his voice.

Jaskier takes a step back to lean against the tree. "He does, oh Eskel," His breath hitches at the syllables of his name. The sound of heartbreak clear. "He doesn't love me. He never has and he won't now."

The moment lingers around them before he closes the distance between them, hugging Jaskier to his chest in a tight embrace. Jaskier takes comfort from that touch, allowing himself to relax against the leather of the armour and the way Eskel radiates protective ease. It has been a long while since he has been held like this and he soaks it up as much as he can.

"Come with me to Kaer Morhen. It's almost winter and you shouldn't be out on the roads." Calm fingers gently pet the back of his head and Jaskier can't hide the way it feels good to be comforted. He tries to muster up the words to tell Eskel that he can't follow him to a place where Geralt will be when he hears the soft rumble against his cheek as the words come. "You let us deal with Geralt when he comes. Don't you worry about it."

"And besides, you wouldn't want to deny Vesemir the chance to meet his grandkid, would you?"

* * *

_Eskel was not the first of Geralt's brothers that he has come across and with any luck, Jaskier knows it won't be last time they meet either._

_He was sure he was just about to be subjected to some kind of protective posturing for what Witchers see as them looking after one another, but it seemed to have fizzled out with Eskel the same way it did with the others - when Jaskier started talking about Geralt. He watches as their eyes grow soft, their lips thin into a line that somehow screamed 'Gods above he really means it' as the words tumble forth about how he adores the boots off of Geralt._

_Eskel was not the first of Geralt's brothers that had pledged to break their brother's bones if he ever broke Jaskier's heart, but it didn't hurt to know that they liked him enough to threaten bodily harm on one of their brethren._

* * *

"Is that it?"

Ciri's elbow bumps against his side as they walk. Geralt looks down at her, then back to the impassive face that Yennefer wears that Geralt knows better than to believe is disinterest. He has learnt to read her better by now and knows that the prospect of spending a whole season holed up in the safety of a Witcher's fortress is something that deeply fascinated her.

Kaer Morhen sits veiled in mists and Geralt feels an indescribable elation at this homecoming. He had missed a few winters but he is keen to make up for it now. 

He turns, ingrained practice, to the empty space by his side half-expecting to see Jaskier's face there; already expecting the quick quips that would tumble out about how his bard was going to interrogate all his brothers about Geralt's childhood. He catches Yennefer's following gaze and looks back to the rise of the road ahead.

Geralt had regretted the words on the mountain the moment he said them. Jaskier did not deserve that, nor had he deserved every single thing Geralt had put him through. He had wanted to snatch them back, to return them into that deep and dark space in him, but by the time he had a half-formed apology and thought to look for Jaskier, the man had all but disappeared. He had spent a good year looking for the man; always listening out for the familiar tones of his voice, for the rumours of a bard matching his description. Geralt had even started paying attention to the court whispers in every kingdom he had passed through of who was fucking who, in the hopes that he could pry Jaskier's whereabouts from that alone, even if that method had caused him to feel a constant burn of jealousy.

Thing is, it had taken him an age but he got there in the end. He thinks he must love Jaskier somehow. Not in the murky, untamed way a magic-bound emotion feels, but the one that feels clear like a mountain spring. After the mountain, with every step Geralt took between then and his present, he suffocates under the knowledge that he must love Jaskier because of every second he has poured into searching for even a whit of his shadow. Because nothing else makes sense around him besides the singular truth that Jaskier is the only thing that has any semblance of rightness and being. 

Roach nudges him and he leans into her. She misses Jaskier too, he knows. He tries not to dwell too long on wondering where he may be.

"Almost there." He spurs them on. It would be good for them here. Yennefer's magical resources were still drained and Ciri needs to formally start her training. Geralt had given her the basics, but Vesemir would be a better teacher than he in any case. Breathing in deep, he clears his head of any lingering thoughts.

The first thing he notes when he steps through the gates was the warmth that seemed to emanate from the stones. Looking around him, he notes that the ruins that once littered the courtyard had mostly been cleared away for a clearer route to the great doors. This late in the autumn season, it was a peculiarity to him that there was a copse of trees just beyond a moss ridden wall that made for what looked like an orchard. Everything seemed cleaner. As if by some unknown hand, the place has gained a kind of order. Something has changed in Kaer Morhen.

He tells Ciri not to wander off and leads Roach and Yennefer's horse to join the rest of his brothers' mounts in the stables, only to be surprised by the sight of a toddler, barely any older than two sleeping on a bed of hay in one of the stalls. 

"I thought you said none of you can have children?" Yennefer asks, clearly as shocked as he is by the presence of this child. 

"We aren't," Geralt replies, transfixed by the way the boy's chest rises and falls in slumber, and how the shade of his hair is a specific brown that he had only ever seen on one person before.

"Celestyn!"

Geralt freezes. He barely has time to run back into the weak sunshine when Jaskier comes skidding to a halt at the stable doors. The sight of him haloed in the light, cheeks flushed, clean and well has Geralt weak in knees with relief. It is then that he sees the way blue eyes widen at the sight of him, before darting to the sleeping boy. To his shame, the insight occurs to him a beat too late and when his lips shape around the syllables of Jaskier's name, the man had shouldered past him, picking the boy up in his arms and running back outside. 

Geralt gives chase, body moving before his mind can tell him to. Only to see Jaskier running through the great doors and the way Eskel stands like a sentinel between him and his bard. 

"Hello, Geralt," He greets. Right before he swings his fist into Geralt's face. 

* * *

_His son is born screaming deep in the heart of the old Witcher keep._

_Announcing his displeasure at being forced out into the world from the warmth and darkness of his mare's womb. A storm rages on outside, howling winds carrying his protests to the skies._

_Vesemir delivers the babe and his uncles stand by around them in wide-eyed guardianship. Jaskier had screamed himself hoarse, weakened by the blood loss and the labour, but he is not alone in this world when he asked to hold his child. No one denies him and the newborn is placed in his arms with tenderness and care. His son squalls and Jaskier laughs, kissing his tiny brow and tasting the salt of tears and the iron of blood, whispering through the pain. "Hello, my love."_

_The cries stop then. Eyes blinking open, amber gaze lifting._

* * *

Geralt wakes to Vesemir's grizzled face peering into his. 

"Good. You're alive," The old Witcher says. "Jaskier can stop being upset now."

"Wha-"

Vesemir thrusts a cup under his nose and holds it there until he gives in and takes it, knocking back the lot and trying not to think too much about the taste. "What is going on?" He tries, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. He has been laid out by a roaring fire and a quick survey of the windows shows that the skies have darkened and rainfall was making rhythmic beats against the fossil pocked stones of Kaer Morhen.

"Vesemir," Geralt gripped him by the wrist when he makes to move away. "What is going on? Tell me. Please."

The lines of his face deepen. "We were made sterile. You know this," Vesermir starts. "It's a fact of being a Witcher and following The Path. But sometimes Destiny can be a bitch and Nature equally so. Sometimes the sterility isn't a guarantee. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Jaskier

Blue eyes that look at him with shock and then fear. The blue-eyed gaze that shot to a sleeping boy with hair like Jaskier's.

Geralt releases Vesemir. "It can't be..."

Jaskier would have said something, wouldn't he? During that accursed quest, he would have said something if he knew. The pit of his stomach drops when he realises that he had said those unforgivable things to Jaskier, let him hike down a dangerous mountain, travel alone after, all while Jaskier had been carrying his child. A son, his mind helpfully supplies, you're a father now. 

"I'm a father."

Vesemir's slap to the back of his head stings. His old mentor's eyes blaze with a cold fury. "You are only a father if Jaskier deems you worthy of it. You didn't know about the pregnancy because Jaskier hadn't known while he was still travelling with you and you will have to earn back that which he had given to you freely. Don't try to deny that you've treated the boy cruelly. All for what? A bruised ego? He's done his best not to sully your name. All his hard work trying to win people over to your cause would have been wasted if he had. But that doesn't mean we aren't here for him. You try anything, you break his heart and the others will have yours for breakfast."

Geralt absolutely does not cower at that.

"I didn't know you cared about Jaskier. Or that you even know him."

"He has the Continent singing that stupid ditty about the White Wolf. How could we have not known?" Vesemir scoffed. Rolling the empty cup between his hands, he looks back over at Geralt. "Eskel found him. Malnourished from the morning sickness. Exhausted and stressed. Brought him here for all the fucks that I could do. Almost lost the boy in childbirth. He was bleeding so much."

"I should've been here," Geralt says, tamping back the heated guilt and sorrow that burns behind his eyes. "I should've-"

"You didn't know. Let it go," Vesemir says, not unkindly. "And work to win him over again. Though gods only know what he saw in you the first time. It certainly wasn't your looks."

* * *

Jaskier barely acknowledges him, but with Ciri and Yennefer, he shares moments of reminiscent and quick bouts of verbal sparring, respectively. It had quickly been revealed that Ciri was familiar with Jaskier from all the performances he had given at her name-day celebrations - with the exception of the last few years. Jaskier had promised that he would make up for it.

There was still a certain level of unease with Geralt himself, but he allows him near enough to introduce their son to him.

Their son, Geralt thinks with no small sense of giddiness, their son. Part of him, part of Jaskier. They'd once discussed the idea of having ten versions of themselves running around in the world and Geralt had shuddered at the idea of passing any part of him to another being. He had been certain that any good qualities would be inherited from Jaskier, just as he is sure with their son. 

Curious amber eyes hold his gaze, pudgy hands reaching out to pat his cheeks and touch the corner of his eyes. "Mama, he got my eyes!"

"Yes, he does, my love," Jaskier agrees easily with a smile that does not falter until their boy loses interest in Geralt's eyes and toddles off into the bowels of the ruins.

"Celestyn?" Geralt asks after what seemed like an eternity of weighted silence.

Jaskier's lips quirk in a soft amused smile. "Yes. Heavenly."

They cross sights. Geralt feels, for the first time, an urgency to speak. Jaskier is the first to break the impasse, rising with mumbled excuses and leaving like the devil was on his heels. No matter, Geralt resolves. He'll just have to keep trying until he has wooed Jaskier back to him.

* * *

The flowers he gave were torn to shreds by their son.

The food he made was devoured by his brothers, Ciri, Yennefer, and Vesemir. Yennefer had even mumbled that she hadn't had this good of a treatment.

The poetry he tried his hand at met the swift death of fire.

Eventually, all he had was the simple act of pulling Jaskier with him into a quiet corner, gently in halting and stuttering stops and starts, talking to him. Pouring out every single thing he should have said, wanted to say, flaying his soul bare until Jaskier slides a hand over his mouth, blue eyes coloured wet with more than mirth and fondness. "I am not saying I'm ready to forgive just yet. You hurt me, Geralt. It's going to take some time to get over that." Geralt nods, logic still thrumming away in his mind even as his heart does a slow aching beat. He remained as still as a statue, allowing Jaskier to step forward, sliding his foot, knee, thigh, between Geralt's. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to. Or that I don't want you. I don't think I am capable of such a thing."

The kiss they shared was one that tasted like a homecoming and one that, by the end of it, left them breathless and dizzy with all the future possibilities.

* * *

Jaskier wakes when his book was slipped out of his hand and Geralt's steady presence comes to press up against his side. He smiles, moving to shape their bodies together on the bench that overlooks the training courtyard. 

In one corner, Ciri is focused and deep in training with Yennefer on controlling her powers. In the other, Vesemir is correcting Celestyn's grip on his wooden sword. After lunch, Jaskier will take them both to his side and sing them a song he had composed, teaching them beautiful melodies of heartbreak and triumphs. 

The press of Geralt's lips to the side of his head has him sighing in languid happiness. They fold their hands together, bringing it to rest on the swell of his belly.

**Author's Note:**

> Resources:
> 
> 1\. I found Celestyn's name ([here](https://www.poland101.com/polish-baby-boys-names))  
2\. The official [Netflix Map and Timeline](https://www.witchernetflix.com/en-gb/) helped gave a spit-rough idea while the [Witcher Wiki](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Witcher_Wiki) was an invaluable insight into the world of The Witcher  
3\. I took many liberties with canon and whatnot. But at this point, what the fuck is canon, am I right? Haha...
> 
> \--
> 
> I have never, will never, allow any reposting or translations of my works without my permission. All of my works will and shall only be hosted on my personal accounts on AO3 (j_gabrielle), Dreamwidth (j_gabrielle) and Tumblr (randomingoftherandomness, hardheartshere).
> 
> For those who say that I never said anything, it is clearly stated on my AO3 profile bio.
> 
> I do not have a Twitter account.
> 
> I do not have a Wattpad account.
> 
> **Please Do Not Repost My Fics**


End file.
